


Stay With Me

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No summary provided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kate for advice, beta and general forgiveness for the use of artistic licence

_If this world is wearing thin,_

_And you're thinking of escape,_

_I'll go anywhere with you,_

_I'll do anything it takes._

_But if you try to go alone,_

_Don't think I'll understand._

**The Present**

Sam Curtis sat with his head in his hands.

What an almighty goddamned mess this had turned out to be.

He lifted tired eyes to study the figure of his partner in the hospital bed. He looked for the entire world like he was sleeping, a relaxed face full of innocence behind the ventilator tube and tapes holding it in place as well as those holding his eyes shut. There was nothing wrong with Chris Keel; he wasn't physically hurt in any apparent way, no drugs or diseases seemed to have invaded his system, nothing. Yet his body was slowly failing.

Sam reached out to squeeze his friend's warm, yet lifeless hand. He was glad they'd taped his eyes shut, because that had been the hardest thing to bear. Over the days since they'd found him, he'd watched those blue eyes change, initially the only communication Chris could make with the outside world, trapped otherwise incommunicado in a body that was incapable of the slightest movement. It was obvious to Sam that Chris' mind had been functioning fully, his keen intelligence alert and missing nothing early on. Then a glazed sheen had crept in, not that of fever, but rather that of the daydreamer, someone whose mind has gone somewhere far away. As time went on, Chris' trips to this other place had become longer, until finally he hadn't come back at all. He'd lost some more autonomous function shortly after that, the ability to swallow, to blink, to breathe, which was when they'd hooked him up to the ventilator and taped his eyes shut.

And Sam could only wonder if his partner was still in there.

"Stay with me, Chris, stay with me," he whispered, pleading with a cracked voice. The doctors were making noises about switching off the life support, as convinced as they could be that there was nothing left of Chris inside the shell that lay immobile on the bed. They kept performing the same tests over and over in a bid to convince themselves, as well as Malone.

Sam swallowed back bitter fury at the thought of the Old Man. With no family, it was down to Malone to make the final decision whether Chris would live or die. At first, Malone had dismissed the notion, unwilling to release the American until all hope of retrieving the list was gone. But now that, that hope was gone, he had told the doctors to do as they saw fit.

Biting his lip, with lowered head, he recalled the words that had passed between himself and his boss. The words that had passed the ultimate decision from Malone's shoulders to Sam's.

A footfall behind him brought Sam out of his reverie and Richards put a supporting hand on his shoulder. "No change?" the tall, lanky man asked. Sam shook his head, unable to reply, and Richards sighed. "Go home, Curtis, it's my turn." Sam was about to object, but the other man already had him by the elbow, pulling him to his feet and propelling him towards the door. "I'll call you, promise." Richards waved his mobile at Sam and the dark haired CI5 agent took one last look at his partner before leaving the room.

Spencer stood outside the door and they exchanged silent nods, united in the accumulated grief that came with multiple colleagues falling to the reaper's scythe. Head low, Sam wandered through the silent corridors, broken only by the occasional nurse bustling about her duty.

He felt a terrible guilt that was foreign to him.

There was the guilt that he had failed to protect his partner, but that was a minor thing really. There was, after all, nothing he could have done. His guilt stemmed from his own feelings. The reasons why he didn't want Chris to die had less to do with his friend's welfare, less to do with the people who would suffer and die without that list and more to do with his own sanity. And yet, despite the guilt, Sam still could not get beyond the fact that if Chris died, he'd be on his own again.

He paused as he passed another room, one that was now deathly silent. Unable to help himself, he glanced inside. A young woman was sitting by the now empty bed, shock glazing her eyes and Sam recognised her as Natalie Anson. He had seen her about, hollow eyed and haggard as she watched over her shattered husband. He'd seen Anson's partner, too, seen the bitter sorrow under her cheerful bravado and wondered if that's what he himself looked like.

He'd felt unable to offer either of them any sympathy, an almost tangible shield already in place between himself and the rest of the world, feeling like an outsider when Spencer and the rest offered Natalie their comfort and support. She had let her husband die a little earlier and Sam could not understand how she had been able to bring herself to do it.

She must have felt his gaze because she looked up just then, her pale blue eyes rimmed with red.

"I couldn't let him live like that," she whispered, and Sam hesitantly took a step inside the room. "It was too unfair. I had to let him go, there really was no other choice."

Sam had the impression that she was trying to convince herself, but nodded an understanding he didn't feel. She was Anson's wife, closer to the man than anyone else could be, closer than he could ever be to Chris. Maybe he wasn't close enough to Chris, and maybe that was why he couldn't get beyond his own needs to do what was best for his partner. Maybe Malone was right.

Maybe he would have to let Chris go, even if it meant being alone again.

*****

**Six Days Previously**

Sam paced in the lobby of the hotel, wondering what was keeping his partner. Flirting with a rather stunning guest had passed the time quite pleasantly for him, but now he was getting worried. How long could it take to pick up a list in whatever form it might come?

The anonymous grey-suited man who had introduced himself as Nick Wells and then escorted Chris upstairs had told them to expect it to take an hour and it had just gone that now. Sam decided to give them five minutes longer before going up and finding out what was happening for himself.

He was just about to go charging up there, when the lift doors opened and Chris came sauntering out, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Have fun without me?" the American drawled.

"Was beginning to think you'd been waylaid by a nympho chambermaid," Sam countered. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, got the goods," laughed Chris. "Now, do your job and take me home."

"Yes, sir!" Sam gave a mock salute, and surreptitiously studied his partner, trying to guess where the list might be hidden. Chris was a good actor and didn't normally give into urges to pat a pocket or otherwise to reassure himself that whatever he was carrying was still there, and Sam enjoyed the challenge of trying to guess. When the roles were reversed, he knew that Chris enjoyed the challenge equally; it was part of the game. For a start, with Chris taking so long, it had to be deeply hidden. Probably a capsule of some kind, maybe sewn into clothing, or inserted into a shoe? No, that would have been quicker, more likely then a chip of some sort inserted under the skin somewhere; he'd have to watch for the mysterious appearance of a band aid, or itching.

He could see Chris staring at him, merry laughter dancing in his eyes. "You're not gonna find it Sam, I promise you."

"You know how patient I can be, Chris. You'll give it away sooner or later."

"Not gonna happen," Chris grinned confidently.

They walked over to the car that would take them to the airport and the flight back to London, both keeping an eye out for possible danger. Courier jobs were always a little uncomfortable, as they were usually in a situation where one of them had to be kept safe at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing the other. For instance, in this case, it was Sam's job to jump in front of a bullet if it meant keeping Chris safe, but Chris could not risk putting himself in danger for Sam.

The journey back to London was uneventful, but once they landed, some sixth sense had Sam on alert. He looked across at Chris as they passed through customs and saw that his partner obviously sensed the same thing by his slightly worried expression.

The feeling only got stronger as they exited the airport and looked for the car that would take them on to the hotel where Chris would hand over the list. A dark blue Bora with a small, dark haired middle-aged driver that looked almost emaciated rolled up to them.

"Package for Daisy?" she asked in a high voice, showing surprisingly perfect, whiter than white teeth as she smiled, brown eyes twinkling.

Sam and Chris nodded and got in the back, though they both still felt on edge. Once inside, the central security locking snapped home and they pulled away. Again, the trip was uneventful though both CI5 agents kept craning their necks to see out the back; quite sure that something was about to happen.

They pulled into the underground car park of the hotel, but before they had come to a halt, a hissing alerted them to the gas. They could see it flowing from the vents, feel it stinging their eyes and invading their lungs.

"Open the doors!" Chris demanded of the driver, between choking coughs, but the woman just shook her head and smiled as she parked the car.

"I can't," she giggled, eyelids drooping but still smiling.

Sam and Chris both did their damndest to get out of the car, but glass refused to break, and doors refused to open. As the car filled with fog, they both passed out, choking, in a heap on the back seat.

*****

When Sam came round, he was in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask clamped to his face. He struggled to sit up, but his achingly tight chest protested, sending him into a coughing fit. Backup was by his side in an instant, pushing him back down.

"What happened?" gasped Sam, weakly, though he knew damned well what had happened; he'd cocked up.

"Chris is gone," said Backup, matter-of-factly, though her worry, as always, peeked out from behind the professionalism in her brown eyes.

"What about the driver?"

Backup shrugged. "No sign. But, the tracer Chris was carrying is still active and on the move."

"Then why aren't we -?" Sam broke off, choking again.

"We are," Backup answered him. "Now relax, okay?"

Sam leaned back, letting the oxygen flush out his lungs, but relaxing was one thing that he couldn't do as he replayed the events in his own mind.

*****

Chris scowled at the straps holding him to the chair as he twisted and pulled at them, trying to find any give that would allow him an advantage. He had awoken here and been alone ever since, and once he had finished coughing away the remnants of the gas, he had figured that whoever had him was leaving him to stew.

He was in the dining room of an expensively furnished house, and the chair he was in was part of the dining set. His jacket lay neatly folded on the heavy oak dining table, while the sleeves of his sweater had been pushed up past his elbows. He figured that the seemingly solid wood of the chair arm would have to give way sooner or later if the leather bands didn't, and worked actively with both arms to free himself, grimacing and grunting as the straps dug into his flesh.

He had rubbed his wrists raw by the time company arrived in the form of a man who was vaguely familiar and two women, one of whom he recognised as the driver of the Bora and the other, a tall, slim redheaded woman with extremely long legs and a short skirt.

The driver, looking fairly androgynous in her slacks and jacket, minced over to one of the other chairs and sat herself primly down, leaning forward to watch the proceedings with interest. The redhead, however, placed a small box on the table and after opening it, produced a syringe and vial. The man, a good fifteen or twenty years older than Keel, though still fit and well built, perched himself on the edge of the table next to him.

"Mr, Keel, I'd like to introduce you to Scarlett," he indicated the red-head, "and Leo. They'll be looking after you during your stay here. You don't need to know who I am, naturally."

"Naturally," replied Chris amicably. "And how long should I expect to remain as your guest?"

"If all goes well, not long," the man replied, with a wolfish grin. "It's simple, really. Scarlett will give you a little something to loosen you up, you'll give me the list, they'll look after you while you recover from the drug, we disappear and you go home." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "The recovery thing is only so that we can collect data on the drug's after-effects; it's experimental you know."

"Thanks for letting me know," Chris smiled, sarcastically. "I would like to point out just a teeny flaw in your plan; I don't have a list, not even a shopping list."

The man laughed and Leo echoed him while Scarlett smiled faintly. "Oh, but you do, my dear boy, you do, and I even know where to find it."

"You do?" said Chris in mock surprise. "You will let me know when you lay your hands on it, won't you? My housekeeper's lost without it."

Leo sank into gales of laughter while the man just chuckled, then his manner turned abruptly hard. "Joke all you like, boy. You won't be able to for much longer, I promise. Won't be able to do much of anything, in fact." He indicated to Scarlett who handed him the syringe.

Chris tensed as the man found a vein at his inner elbow, but didn't flinch as the needle went in. He wasn't worried about giving up the list at first, for that was locked deep inside him where even he couldn't reach it. But he couldn't help feeling some trepidation at what he might have to go through before this man gave up and was slightly unnerved by the fact that the man seemed to know both exactly what he was doing, and seemed confident that he knew exactly what it would take to extract the list.

He fully expected his mind to go cloudy or pains to start somewhere, but there was nothing except a slight involuntary trembling in his limbs that he couldn't explain. But he gritted his teeth and dug in, determined that whatever was about to happen, he would resist it all the way.

"Do you think it'll work this time?" Scarlett asked the man, who shrugged.

"The lab boys said it should, but they're not guaranteeing anything. It's a weaker dose than the others had."

"Do you think it's wise to have given it to him, then? I mean, the list is -"

"Is important to us, yes," the man interrupted. "And if this works, it'll be a huge coup. But we don't have time enough to wait for the drug to be perfected for Mr Keel, and if we lose the list, well, we never had it in the first place. It's no great loss..."

Chris lost his concentration right about then as his body spasmed suddenly and violently, muscles pushing and pulling against each other without cause. A harsh cry tore from his lips as the shocking, overwhelming agony ripped through him from head to toe, abused joints spiking disjointed pain that exploded though his brain in chaotic discord...

And then it was gone, to leave him wide-eyed and gasping for air, slumped in the chair, as all energy fled right out of him.

Scarlett's warm fingers touched his neck, feeling for his pulse. Once done, she pushed his head back gently but firmly, asking him to follow her finger and he found himself obeying without thought. She stepped back and the other man stood in front of him.

"The list," he said. "Give it to me."

Not in this lifetime, Chris thought, but with a shock realised that he could see the list clearly in his mind's eye. It was supposed to be locked away somewhere where he couldn't recall it. He knew that he couldn't give it to the man, but he tried anyway, unable to stop himself.

"Grenoooo..." he trailed off as his mouth and suddenly thick tongue refused to obey him, then tried again, compelled by the drug even as he used every inch of willpower to stop himself. "Gr-nhhhhh..."

The man slapped his face, not hard, but a stinging blow all the same. "Stay with us, boy, try a bit harder. I know you can do it."

"Nhhhh..." Chris tried again and again, long minutes passing, his steel resolve shattering as he fought to get something out, anything that would put him back in control, but nothing would work. His gut churned with fright, both at the uncontrollable compulsion to give this man what he wanted and at his own body's refusal to obey his commands.

The man slapped him over and again, shouting at him by turns, in encouragement and then in anger. Chris put his entire being into getting something out, the words and numbers on the list emblazoned clearly across his mind, demanding to be set free. He could feel tears of frustration building up and strained to vocalise coherently, failing at every turn.

Eventually the man stood back with a sigh. "So close."

"Such a shame," Leo had risen from her seat to join them. "Such a waste, really, but it was worth a go."

"Yes," agreed the man, "it was. I'll leave you two to look after him for the time being. Get us much data from him as you can over the next twenty four hours or so for the lab boys, then his friends can have him back."

Chris was still moaning inarticulately in his efforts to give the man what he what wanted, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled against himself. Abruptly, the compulsion vanished when the man left the room and Chris watched detachedly, his breathing returning to normal as Leo undid the straps holding him pinned to the chair. He immediately tried to go into some kind of action and get out of there, but was stunned when not a single muscle in his body showed the slightest inclination to obey.

He could only watch, still slumped in the chair as Scarlett brought some antiseptic and Leo almost lovingly examined and dealt with his abraded wrists. By the time the skinny woman was done, Scarlett had brought a wheelchair from somewhere and the pair of them lifted Chris into it.

Before he was wheeled away, Leo crouched in front of him, and caressed his face. Chris was forced to endure the calloused feel of the woman's hand, unable to flinch away. "You're completely paralysed, dearest," Leo informed him. "That's why we have to look after you. There isn't any cure, not yet anyway, but you'll soon be back with your friends, so they can look after you. And you needn't worry about being a burden on your friends because you won't be with them for long either." She sighed again, stroking Chris' cheekbone with her thumb, sending a shiver of trepidation through the otherwise immobilised American. "Such a shame..."

*****

Sam thumped the doorframe to Malone's office in frustration as he watched Backup and Spencer, amongst others, work feverishly to try and find the tracer that had suddenly stopped transmitting just after junction fourteen on the M25.

"Mr Curtis!" the old man snapped, and Sam swallowed back his anger and frustration.

"Sir."

"There is nothing more we can do, Mr Curtis. Mr Keel is on his own resources until such time as we can either pick up the tracer again or acquire further information. I'm sure you are aware of that."

Sam nodded, rubbing his bruised fist, his jaw clenching with worry and anger. "They knew it was Chris that had the list; they must have done otherwise they'd have taken me too, but how?"

Malone's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. "I don't know, Mr Curtis. And that, is rather worrying."

Sam chewed at his lip, frowning. "How important is this list?" he asked. "I mean, if they should find it, or Chris gives it up - "

"They, whoever 'they' may be cannot find it, nor can Mr Keel give it up, at least, that was the intention. It is certainly important that we get the list, but failing that, it is imperative that no one else gets their hands on that list and it was therefore buried as deeply as possible inside Mr Keel's head."

"Sir?" asked Sam, confused.

"You are aware that Mr Keel has a photographic memory?"

This was news to Sam, but it did explain a few things, like how his partner could recall telephone numbers and license plates with just a glance. And, now that he thought about it, how the bastard simply seemed to flip through reports, while Sam had to pore over them for hours to gather the same amount of information. "I thought as much," he murmured.

Malone nodded slightly. "He memorised the list, Mr Curtis, and our allies simply put a block on his ability to recall it using hypnosis and a complex set of codes and stimuli. Our Mr Jeffries has those same codes and stimuli in order to remove that block."

Jeffries was a member of the CI5 psychiatric team, a small quiet man who specialised in manipulation, and was frequently present at interrogations. Sam thought about the implications.

"My worry now, Mr Curtis," Malone continued, "is that if whoever took Mr Keel knew exactly who their target was, then they may well know how to access that list."

Sam nodded in agreement, then brought himself up sharply. "And if they don't?" he asked harshly. "Or even if they do, what happens to Chris then?"

"As I said, Mr Curtis, own resources."

Sam stalked into the main office, fuming. On your own resources; he knew very well what that meant, and somewhere deep inside, he appreciated that Malone was nearly as concerned as he was about his partner, but ever since they'd been gassed, the old bastard had been harping on about the wretched list. Chris could have been a biscuit tin for all the old man seemed to care and that infuriated Sam.

"You okay?" Backup's voice, from near his elbow startled Sam out of his anger for a brief moment.

"Yeah, just worried..."

"I know. Not blaming yourself, are you?"

Sam hesitated a moment. It was far too easy to be caught in the guilt trap in this game, and he had already analysed his actions, eliminating any possible cause for blame. "No," he replied with a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just wish I was wherever Chris is."

*****

For the first time in his entire life, Chris was frightened. Not just scared, but a deep, soul-destroying terror that he did his best to keep at bay. Initially he'd convinced himself that he'd snap out of it, that the ability to control his body would come back to him as the drug wore off. But as the hours passed, he began to feel inexorably trapped. Leo kept reassuring him that he would be returned to his friends the next day, but that actually scared him even more. Here, he was trapped inside himself, but also in this room, this house; he even had jailors. But once he was back in the outside world, he would simply be trapped in his own body, and somehow, without the additional enforced confinement, that concept was way more frightening. If Scarlett and Leo were telling the truth, at least, and Chris had no reason to doubt that they were, in fact, he couldn't see why they might lie.

Scarlett and Leo were like two mothers towards him, Scarlett being the stern, strong one who was always firm, but occasionally showed a gentle caring side and Chris thought that she might have been a nurse at some point. Leo was the fussy one, never able to make a decision, though she scared Chris far more than Scarlett did. The woman was always touching him, caressing, like a mother besotted with her baby, a burning madness lurking in her eyes.

They had brought him up to this room, a sumptuous bedroom with a king-sized bed in which he was ensconced, tucked up neatly between crisp, white sheets that covered him up to his waist. The ambient temperature was comfortable, so that suited him just fine, although he was uncomfortable with the fact that he'd been undressed completely, even though Scarlett had done it completely dispassionately.

Scarlett came in every once in a while and took a small sample of his blood after she checked his pulse and temperature before disappearing again, although she was never gone for long, remarking without fail that she would be back soon. Chris had an odd impression that she didn't want to leave him alone too long with Leo.

Leo was his almost constant companion, prattling on about trivial matters at great length or playing card games with Chris that the little woman, surprise, surprise, invariably won, given that Chris was incapable of picking up the cards.

After Scarlett had taken what felt like the millionth sample of blood, she announced that she was going to make dinner and would therefore be gone sometime. Leo's eyes lit up, and Chris had the distinct impression that food wasn't the cause. Scarlett's parting comment of 'Be gentle, Leo,' didn't do anything to reassure him either.

Almost before the door had shut Leo was kneeling on the bed by Chris. She pushed the sheets down, leaving him exposed and utterly vulnerable, his flesh crawling as the woman leered with barely restrained excitement. As Leo reached long, agile fingers out to touch his chest, Chris, unable to react in any other way, closed his eyes tightly, focussing on pushing away the anguish and humiliation that were rapidly creeping across his soul. He suddenly wished that that his rebellious body was numb, too, but it wasn't. He might not be able to command his muscles, but his skin was still functioning and he could feel every itch, every touch, which was probably more sensitive, given that he couldn't do anything about them.

Leo never did anything invasive, just touching with her fingers, caressing, exploring, and her breath panting as she violated the most intimate parts of Chris' body, finding hidden erogenous zones with unerring accuracy. With every touch, Chris felt physically sick, his stomach churning wildly as his mind shied away from the degrading humiliation he was helpless to prevent. The fact that he was lying here, unfettered, to all intents and purposes allowing himself to be violated was an anathema to everything he was, and he denied its reality even as it hit him with sickening clarity that his body was cheerfully responding to Leo's ministrations, electric sensations pulsing through him, previously enjoyed and now perverted.

By the time Scarlett returned bearing a large tray of food, Leo had finished her little games and after cleaning up and tucking Chris back under the sheets, had retired to an armchair where she became happily engrossed in magazines. Chris, however, was in shock and even his traitorous muscles trembled as his mind raged with futile anger at what Leo had done to him. He had never in his wildest imaginings thought that he could feel so utterly helpless and abused.

Scarlett put down the tray and waved a finger in front of his eyes, asking him to track it. He did so, then met hers, trying to communicate his horror. She smiled sadly, as though she understood.

"Well done, Leonora," she said coolly. "You've managed to keep him with us, I'm impressed."

"Well, you did say to be gentle," Leo pouted. "Though I don't know why. It's not like he's going to live long enough to regret anything I might do."

"I know," sighed Scarlett. "Still, help me sit him up. I want to feed him before he loses the ability to eat."

Leo supported Chris while Scarlett fed him, though the American wasn't the least bit interested in food as his stomach roiled at the older woman's touch. There was no way he could stop Scarlett from feeding him, no way to flinch away from Leo, and the shame of being treated like a baby only added to his inner torment.

On the outside he might be limp and placid, but on the inside he was in a storming rage, lightning bolts of anger flashing through his eyes, adrenaline burning fury scorching through his blood, screaming howls of protest ripping through his gut and emerging as... a low whimper that was completely ignored and silenced with a spoonful of hot broth.

"I don't know why you insist on treating these boys with so much consideration," remarked Leo, her mouth right by Chris' ear, her hot breath whispering over sensitive skin, flesh prickling and crawling at the unwanted contact. "I mean, they're terminal, why bother?"

"And is it because they're terminal that you like playing with them so much?" asked Scarlett, as she spooned soup into Chris' mouth.

Leo laughed brightly, "No, dearest, I like them because they're young, strong and helpless. My favourite flavour."

Scarlett shook her head. "You're sick, Leo," she said, without any real feeling.

"And you're not?"

Smiling sadly, Scarlett stopped what she was doing; looking not at Leo, but at Chris as she replied, he could see a genuine sadness plain in her overly bright emerald eyes. "Did you know that I used to nurse terminal patients? For real, I mean?"

"Really?" asked Leo, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Really. They said that I snapped under the strain of caring too much and grieving too many times as each passed away."

"So that's how it was..." breathed Leo, and Chris could swear that the woman was getting excited, if the thunderous roar of air sweeping past his ear, in increasingly rapid bursts was anything to go by.

"Yes, that's how it was. They didn't understand the need I have to care for the dying..."

"... even if you have to slowly murder someone to fulfil that need," finished Leo, breathing heavily and running her hands absently over Chris' torso, making his stomach flip violently. "Now who's the sick one?"

Scarlett smiled humourlessly. "The last sample was clear, by the way. We can let the boy go once Mr Wells is happy."

At the name, it fell into place for Chris why the man had been vaguely familiar. He shared similar facial features to Nick Wells, Goebbert's bodyguard and therefore had to be a brother or some such relation.

Leo purred. "We'll have to see what we can find to entertain us until then, shan't we?" she told Chris in a whisper accompanied by a quick lick round the rim of his ear.

With an unexpected lurch, what little soup he'd taken in made a rapid and brutal return, back up the way it had come.

*****

Sam jumped as something poked his shoulder hard. He lifted his head from the workstation, blinking sleep from his eyes and running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in the chair, looking up at Backup standing over him.

"Hey, you," she said softly, looking as tired as he felt. "You should find a bed to sleep in."

Sam smiled a little and shook his head, "I couldn't sleep."

Backup chuckled softly, "Could have fooled me. You were snoring just then."

"I don't snore," he told her, then paused. "Any news?"

Backup shook her head, "Not yet. Why don't you go down to the night room? I'll call you right away if anything turns up."

"No," replied Sam leaning forward to gaze at his monitor, attempting to pick up from where he had left off. "I'm trying to see if there's a weak link in one of the men who supplied the list."

"We've already covered that, Sam. Richards and Rebecca dug up - "

"I know that," Sam snapped, then more softly, "But there has to be something."

Backup nodded. "Well, what do we have?" she asked. "There's Marston Goebbert, the guy who actually supplied the list..."

"From what Malone said, it was because he was dying that he agreed to write down the list, and he had to be there at that hotel to do it, so that he could be sure that the courier - Chris - was the only one who would see it."

"Sure, but he passed away while you were both flying back to England. And in any case, he hid that list for so long, why would he let it get into wrong hands now? He was the one that contacted CI5 in the first place, to arrange to hand it over. So that doesn't make any sense."

"Agreed," replied Sam, "So, the next is Doctor Michael Pinnock. He's been attending Goebbert for years, very loyal and very close to Goebbert, kept the old man alive longer than anyone had expected by all accounts."

"Yep, and the same could be said of Nick Wells. Dedicated bodyguard and companion, even took a bullet for Goebbert once."

Sam sighed, "And neither of them have or had any contact with anyone who would be remotely interested in acquiring that list."

Backup hesitated, and then said, "Well, we don't know that for sure, because we don't know what the list contains."

"True," replied Sam, "but there's no dodgy dealings been going on that I can see." He let out a breath of frustration and glanced at Malone's darkened office. "Where's the Old Man?"

Backup looked away for a second. "He went home to get some sleep."

Sam felt a surge of anger, the uncaring bastard! Backup must have seen some of that pass across his face, because she instantly leapt to Malone's defence.

"Sam, he's gone over three days with almost no sleep, what with Anson and Carlton's case going down the tubes, then this right on the heels."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to see the validity of Backup's words. "How are Anson and Carlton?" he asked.

"Carlton's going to be just fine, she's already chatting up the doctors. Anson, though... his skull was virtually crushed. His wife's with him... But at least the case was satisfactorily concluded."

Sam snorted, "Now you're sounding like bloody Malone!" he snapped. "So long as the case is satisfactorily concluded, never mind that Anson's at death's door, all is right with the fucking world! It's the same with Keel. So long as the list doesn't get into the wrong hands, whatever's happened to Chris is irrelevant- he could be being tortured to death for all we know and the Old Bastard doesn't give a flying f..." Sam trailed off as he realised that he must be tired; he wasn't normally given to expressing himself so volubly.

Back up moved behind him, massaging his shoulders and neck and Sam leant back into it. "Come on, Sam, calm down. Malone's just focussing on what's of overall importance in the running of this place. First rule and all that, you know? He's as worried as we are, he always is."

"I know," Sam sighed, "I just wish that he'd show it a bit, that's all."

"You mean like you do?" Sam could hear the soft laughter in her voice.

"Yeah, like me. Open book," he replied with a small chuckle of his own.

"Well, look at it this way, Malone's worried enough about Anson, so he's probably trying not to worry too much about Chris until he knows there's something to worry about. If he didn't do that, then with the amount of scrapes you and Keel - in particular - get into, he'd have had a coronary by now or an ulcer. Does that make sense? Remember, the buck stops with Malone and he's only human."

"You're right, as always," Sam smiled a little. "And I know I'll feel a whole lot better when I'm doing something, instead of just sitting here and trawling through reports and security camera footage that we already know don't show anything."

"Of course you will, now go downstairs and get some sleep."

Sam twisted in his seat and looked up at her tired face. "You should take some of your own advice."

She grinned back at him. "I will. Now go, I'll call you."

Sam got up from the chair, and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Thanks, Backup," he said, and headed for the lift. But as he walked away, he couldn't stop the feeling of unknown dread that was starting to build up in his gut.

*****

"Are we taking him with us?" Scarlett asked, unsure what she wanted the answer to be, as she observed the still figure on the bed. Sometimes the lab boys wanted to examine their guinea pigs personally before letting them go.

Leo shook her head and sighed, "No, dear, there's no point really, is there? Shame though, I'd have liked to have played with him a bit longer."

Scarlett nodded, one part of her pleased that Leonora would be denied her little fantasies, but the other part was disappointed that she wouldn't be able to care for the man any longer. And there was more, a tiny instinct telling her that this was wrong, that the fates weren't quite ready to take this boy home. She shook that feeling away; it was too late now.

Leo moved towards the bed and sat on the edge stroking the short, soft hair back from the invalid's face with an almost motherly tenderness, ignoring the angry blue gaze that her touch provoked. "How do you think we should arrange him, dear? I think we should present him nicely for his friends."

Scarlett shook her head and moved to the other side of the bed, looking down at the stormy eyes that stared back at her, a mute plea in their depths. "With taste," she told Leo, "nothing grotesque. Please."

Leo beamed at her. "I have the perfect idea," she exclaimed and reached into the cupboard by the bed.

*****

Sam was roused from restless sleep by the buzzing of a phone. He pounced on the receiver before he was even fully awake, and Backup's voice on the other end sent a surge of adrenaline that threw him to full alertness in seconds.

He took a moment to wash his face and run his hands through his hair, before charging up to operations as fast as he could. He noted that Malone's office was still darkened, just as Backup caught his arm.

"Malone's on his way in," she told him. "We've just received an anonymous tip off that Chris is being held at Leighbourne House, Hertfordshire. The owners are on an extended trip abroad, so it sh..."

The lift doors opened and Malone's voice boomed through the office. "Miss Backus, my office. You too, Mr Curtis and Mr Spencer."

With something finally to do, Sam slipped into his normal professional persona with a relief that was unbounded.

*****

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the emotions that were roiling inside him. He was afraid of what would happen if he allowed them to swamp him, where they would go, because he had no release mechanism in any way other than tears. And he desperately wanted to keep some semblance of dignity.

He decided at that point that he didn't want to be found and especially not by Sam, Backup or even Malone. Or for that matter Spencer, or Richards or anyone else he knew. The humiliation would be unbearable. It wasn't so much how Scarlett and Leo had arranged him before they left, as the fact that they'd been able to do so. The fact that they'd turned him into a showpiece for anyone and everyone who might come into that room.

He knew that Scarlett, Leo and Wells, wouldn't be coming back. But he didn't know who would. The owners of the house? Or maybe there were caretakers? He was certain that none of those three owned the house. They had assured him that he would be found, though. Maybe they had tipped someone off. CI5? The local police? The thought of either made Chris cringe. Teams of agents or plods with their size tens coming in to have a good gawk would make his humiliation complete, any sense of dignity stripped away.

*****

Sam led the way, with Backup right behind him. He could hear Spencer and Richards coming in through the back and headed up the wide staircase, leaving them to check the ground floor and cellar. He took the left hand side of the corridor while Backup took the right, opening doors and checking each and every room. There was little subtly in their actions, the tip-off had indicated that the house would empty apart from Keel and they had even called out, hoping Chris might answer.

Sam reached the last door on his side and burst into the room, identifying the figure on the bed and checking for other bodies, living or otherwise, with professional detachment. Only when he was satisfied that there were no threats in the room did he put his gun away and approach the bed.

He swallowed hard and heard Backup bite back a curse when he saw his partner lying in the centre, a red satin sheet neatly made under him and another red satin sheet draped almost casually over his legs and very low over his hips, leaving him naked from well below the navel upwards. Black silk cords were wrapped loosely round his wrists, attached to the sides of the bed and held Chris' arms out to the side in a manner reminiscent of a crucifixion. His head lolled to the side, towards the window, against a plump crimson pillow and Sam could see that his eyes were open, their blue gaze electric against the red.

"Chris?" Sam called as he swiftly bent to slip the cord from his partner's wrist on the nearside of the bed, pausing briefly to check for a pulse even though he could see the rhythmic rise and fall of the American's chest. There was no response, and the Englishman assumed that for whatever reason, his partner was probably just not quite with it, maybe drugged. "Chris?" he prompted again, as he went round to the other side and, crouching, slipped the cord off there.

Still with no response forthcoming, Sam looked up into the blue eyes and faltered.

Chris was watching him with such a burning intensity that Sam could almost feel it. He studied his partner carefully, trying to read the myriad of emotions present in that gaze. It was clear that Chris was trying to tell him something, and he could see relief there along with, what, a plea? A plea for what?

Sam put his hand on Chris' shoulder. "Just hang on, we're getting you out of here," the Englishman said reassuringly. The plea in Chris' eyes became paramount, though he still didn't move and Sam lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. It was at that point, when Chris failed to even try and shift his head to follow Sam that the Englishman realised that his partner was actually incapable of any movement at all.

*****

It seemed like forever before Chris was finally alone. Well, except for Reynolds standing guard just outside the door. Sam had been dragged back to the office virtually by the scruff of his neck by Malone and Backup had followed. Doctors and nurses had been busy poking and prodding him, taking samples of this that and the other, and hooking him up to intravenous fluids. He didn't even want to think about indignity of having the catheter put in. His rational mind told him that they were doing all this now so that he would only have to suffer a minimal amount of humiliation in future, but his irrational, terrified side had screamed at them to leave him alone, that he didn't want this, that he just wanted to be allowed to run away and hide. Except that he couldn't crawl anywhere, much less run.

At least being taken from the house hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. When he'd seen Sam and heard Backup, he'd been mortified, but as soon as Sam's concerned face had come into his line of sight, he'd been able to breath a sigh of relief, rhetorically speaking, as he'd immediately known that the Englishman wouldn't let him suffer any more indignity than he had to, although he still hadn't been able to stop himself from willing Sam to understand, pleading with his eyes.

Fortunately, Sam had understood and had sent Backup away to guide the paramedics in, and shield the room from any curious eyes. Now that he was in safe hands, Chris held on to the hope that someone could do something for him, banishing, albeit temporarily, the suffocating claustrophobia of being trapped.

*****

Sam stood at the back of Malone's office in disbelief, his temper rising. He had just spent the last couple of hours giving his input on discussions of what to do if Chris had given up the list. All anyone knew was that the list had contained names with codes attached to them of 'sleepers' or dormant spies located around the world that Goebbert had been in control of on behalf of MI6. For security, no one but Goebbert had known who these sleepers were, and even Goebbert had not had any perceptible connection to MI6.

Apparently, Malone had only been contacted to prevent any connection being made with MI6, and now Sam was standing in Malone's office with two of his ex-MI6 colleagues. He didn't really know either Grayson or Phillips, but he had heard that they were both above board, if a little cold and ruthless, and recognised that that description could equally apply to himself.

Sitting in the chair was Jeffries, a small wiry man who seemed very nervous behind his spectacles, but who Sam knew to be knowledgeable and authoritative if the situation called for it.

They were discussing the list of course, and how best to retrieve it. Or, worst case, how to destroy it. And this was what was sending Sam's temper through the roof. He wouldn't show it, especially not with Grayson and Phillips present, but they were talking about Chris as if he were an inanimate object, even Malone.

"We know that the courier can still communicate after a fashion," said Jeffries, rifling through the report in front of him. "I'd like to suggest that I give him the unblocking sequence and see what happens."

"Communicate?" said Grayson sceptically. "With eyeblinks? Would that be enough? And how would you know exactly what was being communicated?"

Jeffries cleared his throat, an annoyed frown furrowing his brow. "Being a CI5 agent, the courier is quite bright," he sniped. "I'm sure I can work out a code for him to use, perhaps based on Morse Code..."

"Excuse me," interrupted Sam, coldly. "But as far as I know, Chris hasn't been able to communicate that way. Sure, he blinks, but that's..."

"Autonomous," finished Jeffries sharply. "I realise that, but there is some indication that there may be some refined motor control that we can use. I'll have to discuss it with some specialists of course, but we can look into it. It will have to be done quickly, mind; I understand from Doctor Halley that there's a distinct possibility that even autonomous function could be lost at some point."

"What about security?" broke in Phillips. "If you unblock the list but can't get at it, what's to stop someone taking it who can? Again?"

"I'll have two agents at the hospital at all times, gentlemen," Malone answered quietly. "That really, need not be an issue."

"I can't accept that as being enough," snapped Phillips. "If your man here had been on the ball in the first place, we wouldn't be having this discussion. I'm recommending that MI6 personnel be assigned."

"There was no way to predict what happened, Mr Phillips," Malone's tone was icy cold. "Make your recommendation to the Minister by all means, but until then, this is still in CI5 hands."

Phillips glowered but didn't deign to reply.

"And talking about security," asked Grayson. "If we can't get the list, is it really going to be safe to assume that no one else will be able to?"

"No, I rather think that would be an unsafe conclusion," sighed Malone. "Drugs and methods are being developed all the time."

"If Doctor Halley's right," said Jeffries, peering over the top of his spectacles, "and autonomous function does desist altogether, then I suggest we let nature take its course. If he's wrong, then the courier will simply have to be moved to a secure unit that can keep him maintained and contained until such time something is developed that we can use."

"What were you going to do if this hadn't gone wrong?" Sam asked tightly. "How were you going to make sure Chris didn't give the list up after this was all over?"

"Simple, Mr Curtis," Jeffries blinked at him. "There are tried and tested methods of wiping a person's memory of specific events, and your partner was well aware that he would have some residual, probably short term, memory loss. Unfortunately, I need for him to be with us and able to communicate, in order to apply such a method."

Sam closed his eyes tightly, as the long fuse of his temper burned brightly, in an effort to stifle it. He heard Grayson's voice as if from very far away, and opened his eyes again, glaring at the man.

"Agreed," said the MI6 man, breathing a sigh of relief. "I think we've covered most eventualities here and achieved damage limitation."

"Mr Curtis, do you have anything else to add?" asked Malone thoughtfully.

"No, sir," he spat out between clenched jaws, and followed the CI5 boss's subsequent dismissal, striding out of the office and heading toward the lift.

Backup stopped him, grabbing him by the arm. "Sam?"

Sam looked at her bitterly. "You were wrong," he told her. "He doesn't give a fucking damn." He shook her off and stormed from the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris decided that he now knew how lab rats felt and that he would have full sympathy for animal rights protesters for the rest of his life, however much there was left of it. Jeffries had been in, and after way too much poking and prodding had given him the unblocking code. He would have told the man if he'd been able, that he didn't need to do it, that the list was already floating around quite freely in his brain.

Then the code did something to him.

The compulsion he'd had to tell the man who'd given him the drug came back in full force, and he'd found himself groaning softly in his attempts to tell the man. Jeffries had consequently spent a long time with him, trying different methods to enable him to communicate but nothing had worked and the little man had departed in frustration. The compulsion had left with Jeffries, but the list remained, bold and demanding in his mind's eye.

*****

Sam sat next to the hospital bed, and talked to Chris about anything and everything. By watching his partner's eyes, he could read reactions to what he was saying. Laughter at Richards' antics, sadness at Anson's coma, rolling eyes whenever Malone's name was mentioned, and Sam could almost imagine a two-way conversation occurring.

More specialists had examined his partner without any results to show for it other than that, some kind of neuro-transmitter blocker had been given to Chris, although there was no sign of a drug in his system. But given that he had been in his captors' hands for well over twenty-four hours, if it had been administered early on, then there could be little expectation of any trace.

Chattering away and being uncharacteristically verbose Sam noticed that Chris was no longer looking at him; his eyes slightly glazed, he was focussing introspectively. Sam considered calling someone for a moment, but relaxed as his partner's eyes blinked back to life as if nothing had happened. Sam shook the incident off as irrelevant; everyone zoned out during the course of the day.

He was still angry with Malone, and had avoided meeting with the old man when he could ever since that discussion a couple of days before, but managed to put that anger aside while he was with Chris, trying to cheer his partner up. He knew that Chris, ever active, would be hating every minute of being trapped like this and therefore had to be feeling pretty low right now. He didn't tell Chris what had been discussed in Malone's office of course, and felt more than a twinge of guilt at that. But it was not his prerogative and besides which, he couldn't see how the information could help Chris, quite the reverse in fact. More than that, though, was the fact that no one seemed to be giving any thought to getting Chris well again, even Halley was more interested in making the patient comfortable. But Sam refused to believe that there wasn't a way to cure the paralysis that gripped his friend; he needed him too much to accept anything else.

But as far as Malone seemed to be concerned, it was all about the sodding list, and Sam had had more than enough of it.

The door opened and Sam looked up to see Malone standing there. He stood himself and muttered something about going for a coffee, brushing past his boss without meeting his eyes.

*****

Chris liked to listen to Sam talking. It made him feel safe and secure. With everyone doing absolutely everything for him, many of these things still being undignified and humiliating, security was something that he badly needed. Every time someone touched him he shuddered internally, frustrated that he couldn't tell them to just fuck off and leave him alone. He felt constantly raw, naked and vulnerable and it was wearing him down.

He studied Sam, sitting by his bedside. He looked tired and wished he could tell the Englishman to go home and get some rest. He knew that he was being kept under guard, that Malone was worried that someone might still try and get access to the list and he always had company, but Sam seemed to be pulling double shifts.

The list...

Chris found his mind being pulled back to the time in the house, pulled back into that bed where he was trapped, held down with words, naked and exposed, spider-fingers creeping over him, compelled to give Wells, give Jeffries the list...

Sam's voice penetrated the images and Chris looked at him, blinking away the remnants of the day-mare and paid attention to what the Englishman was saying, determined not to think about the past.

He was disappointed when Sam left, to be replaced by Malone. Security gone, only to be replaced with the increasingly familiar vulnerability. The old man looked awkward and vulnerable himself now, and Chris found that oddly reassuring. He wasn't the only one who was scared inside at what was happening.

Malone cleared his throat and sat down, looking anywhere but at him and Chris watched him intently, knowing instinctively that something he didn't want to hear was coming.

"Mr Keel, ah," Malone cleared his throat again and fiddled with his glasses. "Christopher," he began again, and Chris knew that whatever was coming had to be *really* bad news for the old man to use his given name.

After another pause, Malone seemed to marshal himself and looked him straight in the eye. "It's fallen to me to inform you of the doctor's prognosis. I felt that it would be better coming from someone you know. To be frank, they aren't even sure that you can comprehend the implications, but I believe that you can." Malone looked away again, and Chris wished he could yawn in belligerent antipathy at the Old Man's speech making ability. Malone returned his gaze, a deep sadness there, while he spoke softly. "There doesn't seem to be any cure and I'm afraid this condition is getting worse. You will of course be transferred somewhere more amenable if..."

Malone's words were drowned out, by the blood rushing past Chris ears. No! This was not what he wanted to hear! In his mind, he shook and screamed in denial. How did they know he was getting worse? He didn't feel like anything had changed! How dare they take away his one remaining hope? The trapped claustrophobia he'd been working hard to push away, descended upon him with the resounding finality of a cage locking him up forever. He railed at it, still screaming in denial, until a hand shaking him brought him back with a shout of fear that no one could hear as spider-fingers crawled over him.

A nurse was looking at him with a cheery smile he wanted to knock off her face, and Malone had gone. For a moment he tried to pretend it had been a dream, but he could still smell the Old Man's cologne lingering in the sterile atmosphere.

*****

Sam was growing concerned, over and above the obvious paralysis that gripped his partner; Chris seemed to be zoning out with increasing regularity. The specialists seemed concerned but could offer no reason for it and do nothing to prevent it. They weren't even in agreement on whether it should be prevented, given that they knew nothing about what had been done to Chris. The only thing they could say for certain was that he was still deteriorating.

Even now, Chris' gaze was completely blank, failing to track anything or show signs of life and Sam panicked a little, shaking his partner's form a couple of times, asking, begging him to snap out of it.

Chris blinked and looked at him in faint surprise, almost as if he didn't realise that he'd been out of it.

Sam relaxed a little, as his fear that Chris would be lost to him subsided. It was a fear that had been growing steadily since he'd found out that the American wasn't going to be getting better any time soon and he pushed that fear away, not wanting to think about it just now, knowing that it would eat him up inside.

Instead, he launched into an exaggerated tale of Richards' latest exploits that had, as usual, landed Spencer in trouble.

When Backup came to relieve him, instead of going home, Sam went back to the office determined to find something, anything that might provide a glimmer of hope. He wasn't about to let Chris go that easily and the faith he had in his own abilities to find some slight lead, helped assuage the monster that his fear was becoming.

Before the American had come along, he had never had a partner, never had to rely on someone else, never had to trust someone else, and he'd had some serious difficulty getting used to the idea. Chris himself hadn't been much help at the time having come into CI5 full of bitter rage and throwing himself into each mission with a suicidal enthusiasm that grated against Sam's natural instincts to plan and execute with cold, ruthless efficiency. In their different ways, each had been distant and unreachable, unable to give ground.

But somehow, a mutual desire to do something to protect the world, albeit for vastly different reasons, had created the beginnings of a burgeoning bond that had in more recent months gone beyond partnership and into the realms of deep friendship. Sam recognised that he'd had no small part in helping Chris calm down and dissipating some of the anger that seemed to be an intrinsic part of the man. He couldn't say that they wholly knew each other, they both had their secrets after all, but they had an understanding that transcended any need to pry.

For his part, Sam was more grateful than he could ever admit for the entrance of the volatile American into his life. He had been worn down and jaded, at much too young an age, by what he had seen and experienced and was on the point of self-destruction with his own dark hatred of himself, of what he'd become as much as anything else. He'd been alone in the world for far too long, never letting anyone near, because that could only lead to hurt or betrayal, as he'd found out the hard way. Then Chris had come along with his wild energy and dragged him kicking and screaming into the light.

Sam tried to recall exactly when he had begun to trust the man. It had been on some mission where he'd been shot and inextricably cornered. He'd heard Malone ordering Keel and Backus out of the area and known he was about to die. He'd heard Malone shouting, ordering Keel back and hadn't understood it until the American had skidded feet first into his little corner. He smiled as he recalled Chris grinning at him manically and saying, 'Fuck Malone, I don't abandon anyone, least of all my partner,' despite the headset he still wore. He had disjointed recollections of Chris carrying him out of there, gun blazing before he'd passed out and since then, there'd been no looking back.

Right now though, Sam was at war with himself. Like many people who do not trust easily, once a trust has been established, he would go to any lengths to preserve it, to make sure that the other person wouldn't break that trust, which in his case came in the form of leaving him to be alone in the world again. But the monster that was his fear of aloneness also reminded him of why he had never trusted in the first place; it tried to convince him to abandon Chris now, before the American abandoned him, so that the hurt would be so much less.

But Sam's faith in both himself and his partner was unshakeable and he pushed the monster away. He could still feel it though, as he worked, gnawing away at him, growing stronger as he failed to find anything that might even remotely help Chris.

*****

Chris was lost in chaotic sensations that assaulted him from all directions that he couldn't make sense of. He wanted to run and hide, get away from it all, escaping the prying fingers, the stranger who kept repeating codes, pressing objects into his hand in a progression that was supposed to unlock his mind, stabbing needles in his arms, crawling hands violating, peeling him apart, exposing every part, every weakness and sending him screaming back into a little corner with a tiny cell where a distorted sense of peace came in the form of the prison of his own mind.

*****

"Chris?" Sam shook his partner harder and harder in his attempts to rouse the American from the stupor he had sunk into. The periods had been growing longer and now he had been blank for over an hour, and Sam's gut feeling was that this time Chris wasn't coming back; he panicked.

He hit the call button and Doctor Halley came almost immediately, examining Chris while Sam demanded explanations. The only one he got before the doctor left was that either the patient would come out of it, or he wouldn't.

The monster battered at Sam's defences, but Chris hadn't left him yet, and he stubbornly held onto the hope that was rapidly dwindling in his attempts to keep it at bay.

*****

Chris scrunched up in the centre of his tiny cell, making himself as small as possible. A thousand hands reached through the bars, on all six sides, touching, invading and violating wherever they could, and Chris tried to curl up even tighter, coping as best he could because he knew that the void between his little cell and the outside world was full of horrors that wanted to destroy him.

Sometimes the outside world passed near his little corner though, and he could hear voices, Sam's voice talking to him, and he took comfort in that. He heard doctors and colleagues talking about him as if he wasn't there and took umbrage at that. Just because he seemed to be dead to the world, didn't mean he was. Sense of taste and smell had just about disappeared by now, although he could still feel, his skin still alive, as well as his hearing.

But, more often than not, the outside world just left him alone in his little corner.

Leo's cackle silenced all and Scarlett stood above Chris' shaking form, a scroll in her hand. She unrolled it to show him that it was blank save for two words at the top. 'The List'. She opened her mouth to speak but the words that came out were in Sam's voice, 'Stay with me, I'll be back soon'. It didn't make sense and it didn't make any difference. No matter if he went back or stayed here; he was still a prisoner and not only did he did not want to face any of the horrors again, the entrapment, the degradation, he also could not see any point in fighting. He had been born to fight, had lived his whole life fighting, and had certainly fought battles he couldn't win before, but this time, the victor's spoils were unquestionably worse than the fate of the vanquished.

*****

"I can't believe you're going to do it!" Sam's raised voice could be heard in the outer office through the closed door, but he didn't care. "You can't just -!"

"Mr Curtis!" Malone snapped, an icy fire in his eyes. "You will sit down and discuss this like an adult! Like the professional adult that you are supposed to be!"

Sam snapped his jaw shut, but chose to remain standing, his arms folded across his chest, defiance blazing ice-cold from his eyes.

Malone sighed. "Mr Curtis, I don't like this any more than you do. Unfortunately, with no living family, it falls to me to make this decision and I believe that we've already put Mr Keel through quite enough, without prolonging his suffering any longer."

"You can't even call him by his first name! How can it be your right -?" Sam put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, biting the words, keeping tight rein on his temper. "Chris is still alive in there, I'm sure of it. And to be frank, sir, I think you've got too many other things to take into consideration that cloud your judgement."

"You're questioning my judgement, Mr Curtis?" Malone's voice was low and dangerous and Sam hesitated before committing himself.

"Yes, sir," he said finally, standing back, chin jutting in stubborn confirmation of his stand.

"And can you tell me that your emotions aren't clouding *your* judgement?" Malone asked coldly.

Sam hesitated, looking down at the desk. He couldn't admit that - yes, his carefully guarded emotions probably were and that he felt this situation called for it, but neither could he lie. Not in this case.

"I didn't think so," Malone said, his tone softening. "Mr Curtis, while it is my decision, and mine alone to sign the papers that will release Mr Keel, I recognise that you are quite probably the closest person to him." Sam looked slightly startled. "Yes, Mr Curtis, I do see these things. I also think that perhaps you're right. That perhaps it would be better to have someone more... subjective involved."

"Sir?" Sam was confused.

"I'm suggesting that you go and sit with Mr Keel. I know you have been these last few days, but go again now, knowing the decision that must be made, and put yourself where he is. You might even take the time to visit Mrs Anson; she has been faced with the same decision and speaking with her may help the both of you. Take as long as you need and when you've reached a conclusion, I will... consider what you have to say."

"You - you're letting me make the decision," Sam said, disbelievingly.

"That is not what I said, Mr Curtis, now go, before I change my mind."

Dazed, Sam left the office, missing the CI5 commander leaning tiredly back in his chair with a soul-weary sigh.

*****

_In the silence of your room_

_In the darkness of your schemes_

_You must only think of me_

_I will visit all your dreams_

_And when your pride is on the floor_

_I'll make you beg for more_

The Present

Sam Curtis sat with his head in his hands and lifted tired eyes to study his partner again. There was no change still and Sam had tried to imagine what it must be like to be lying there, having machines do everything for you, but he couldn't.

He had seen bitterness, hate and despair in Chris' eyes while he was still aware, when the American probably thought no one could see, but he had ignored them. Ignored the idea that Chris would give up, be forced to give up and leave him.

And now the fear of being alone again was overwhelming him.

He'd been meant to go home, get some rest, but after seeing Anson's wife, he just couldn't do it and had chased Richards back out. He needed as much time as he could get with Chris now. The doctor had been in again, repeating the same tests, opening Chris' eyes to see if he was responsive to light or if the blink reflex was there, squirting water in his ears, removing the ventilator and measuring carbon dioxide... the tests seemed almost endless and Sam appreciated that the man was being thorough. But still he had come to the same conclusion, that there was no longer any activity going on inside the patient's brain.

Which to Sam, could only mean that Chris had already left him. Anger surged through him and he held Chris' limp hand in a crushing grip as he swallowed back tears and bit his tongue till it bled in a bid to hold back the angry words that raged through him. How dare he leave him alone! How dare he make him open up and trust him! How dare he show him how to live again! How dare he abandon him! Couldn't he see how much he needed him? Why had he given up and left him?

He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring and sniffed as his nose began to run a little, taking a deep breath as the anger abruptly deflated, leaving him teary and weak.

For the first time, he started to think about Chris' well being, and a new guilt emerged. He, Sam, was being the selfish one, holding Chris here, when he had already gone to a better place. It wasn't fair on the American. Chris had said to him once in a drunken melancholy, that same night that he'd finally told Sam about his wife, that the right to die was just as important as the right to live. He hadn't thought much about it at the time, but it seemed that the words had stuck.

Bowing his head, Sam reached his conclusion and the fear that lurked inside him rose up with a hungry howl and proceeded to ravenously devour him.

*****

Chris felt the first twinges of real terror grip him as he realised that they were actually going to do it. He'd heard them discussing it in his brief periods of faint awareness, but he never thought they'd actually do it. That they really were about to switch him off and let him die.

For such a long time he'd wanted to, especially after Teresa, and had looked death in the face more times than he cared to count, but he had a strong survival instinct that had always pulled him through.

That survival instinct had deserted him for a while there, but with the realisation that they were going to switch him off, the terror that came with it reasserted that instinct. It dawned on him that he wanted to live, that he had more now to live for than he'd realised, close friends that he would miss too much, even if he was trapped in his body; he'd learn to deal with it, learn to live in a different way, whatever it took. He tried to free himself from the cage that held him in his mind, but there was no give and he couldn't do it. But if he remained quiet, he could hear what was happening in the real world and be a part of it for as long as he was able. He could still feel, could still hear, could still tell what was going on around him, and he needed to hold onto that. He still had some fight left in him and refused to go down without giving it all he had.

Backup was holding his hand and whispering to him, crying, he thought, by the sniffling that punctuated ever other word. "Chris, I'm gonna miss you, but you know that, right? I'm gonna miss your eternal optimism, the way you laugh and face life head on and - " she broke off with a harsh sob and took a deep breath. "And I'm gonna miss your stupid, infantile practical jokes that scare the crap out of me..."

*Oh, shit, Backup... Tina, honey, don't cry, please? You're gonna start me off with the waterworks in a minute. If I really am gonna die, I don't want to think of you being sad, I wanna remember your smile, the one that lights up the room and that ridiculous, infectious girlie giggle you have when you think no one can hear you. Please don't cry...*

Backup let go of his hand, but it was replaced by someone else's - Malone's? Nothing was said, but Chris was quite certain that Malone would be standing over him, paying his respects in cold, silent grief.

*Come on, you old bastard, you can stop this. You're the one with the power; don't let them kill me, please. I'm still here, and I don't want to leave. Please! You've been pushing and pushing so you can your hands on the stupid list, and you're giving up? You can't! Please? *

Other people came and went, Spencer, Richards and the rest. And with each one, Chris grew more terrified at the thought of leaving them behind. He heard people leave the room and knew that he was alone with the one voice he hadn't heard; Sam, who held his hand as he'd done since he'd been here. No, he was wrong, there was Backup in the background, still sniffling, probably standing behind the Englishman, being supportive even through her own grief.

"I -" Sam was having difficulty speaking and Chris tried to will him not to say anything, but the Englishman forged on regardless. "I'm sorry, mate, I let you down. I'll miss you more than I could ever have admitted to you while you were still here, but somehow, it's easier now, knowing that you're not coming back to us. You're a stubborn bastard that managed to get under my skin and annoy the hell out of me. I needed that, still need that. And I don't know - I'll deal with it, though. I always do..."

*Sure you will, Sam, you'll lock yourself away where no one can touch you again. You're already doing it; I can hear it in your voice. I'll even bet you're gonna be the one to flip the switch, aren't you? Take it on yourself, the perfect excuse to rebuild the wall. Well, I got news for you, Sam; I'm not leaving you that easy. They keep saying that I'll never recover, that I'm already brain-dead and maybe that's true, but you've kept faith in me. Switch me off then, do what you like, but I'm not giving up. I'll fight it every inch of the fucking way. Please Sam, don't do it. Please? *

"Goodbye, Chris."

* That's it, Curtis, squeeze my hand to death, hold on to me like you can hold me here, you never know, it might just work. There goes the switch and...*

*****

*...whaddya know, nothing's changed. *

"He's still breathing," Sam's voice was cracking with false hope.

"It's only natural. It could even be a couple of hours before the end comes," the doctor informed him gently.

* It could? You mean it's not a case of one last, final battle all over in a couple of seconds? You mean I have to keep on fighting? Because I don't know if I can do this, it's already getting harder...*

The tubes and ventilator were removed and Chris could feel his muscles becoming heavier and harder to work. The ventilator had been removed before when they'd been doing tests, and while he'd almost suffocated then, he'd known that they would put it back, and so his efforts had only needed to be strong enough to keep him going until then, and he had never even been sure whether the effort had made any difference. But this time, he was fighting for his life. He pitched his total concentration into taking each breath. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but clung to the one hope that if he kept it up long enough, just maybe they'd switch him back on again. Maybe. He knew it was a false hope, because no one had given him that lifeline, but he held on to it anyway.

Each drag of air into his by now burning lungs was a victory of supreme willpower and Chris felt that he had never worked so hard in his entire life; even Hell Week seemed a cakewalk compared to this. He was beginning to fail now though, the little cell constricting, squashing him smaller, pushing him to his knees, the welcoming shroud of eternal sleep beckoning to him from the edges of his mind.

Sam's hand squeezed ever tighter, crushing his fingers, providing the merest wisp of a lifeline that he tried to hang on to and he put one last final effort into keeping himself going.

"Chris?" Sam whispered. "Chris? Do that again?"

*Do what again, Sam? I'm trying to stay with you, but it's too hard...*

"Stay with me, Chris, come on, you can do it, you stubborn sod."

* I'm trying... I can't...*

"Doctor, you've got to put the ventilator back on!" Sam's sounded desperate.

"Mr Curtis - "

"Please, doctor, his hand moved, very faintly, but - "

"A reflexive - "

"Twice! When I asked him to! It's been too long! Listen to him, he's fighting for every breath, he's fighting to stay alive, he's still in there!" Sam's voice broke and softened, "Aren't you, mate?"

* Finally! Come on, Sam... tell him.... Help me... *

"Mr Curtis, do you think it's really fair to put Mr Keel through any more than he's had to endure? Is it what he would want?"

* Yes! *

"Yes, it is. He'd want - he wants to stay, I know it."

"Very well, then."

When they switched him back on, tubes and wires back in place, Chris finally relaxed, relief and exhaustion giving was to the shock that pervaded his entire being. He felt a tear leak out to trickle from the corner of his eye into his hair, then Sam's fingers, trembling, wiping it away.

"I was right, doctor, see?" he whispered, squeezing Chris' hand again. Chris tried to return it, putting every fibre of grateful thanks into it but the effort was too much and nothing was responding, so he drifted into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

*****

Scarlett watched through the window in the door. The man standing guard on the room next to her didn't question her presence, only staring at her legs. Well she would let him if it kept him occupied. She was concentrating on the man in the bed. She regretted that she had been caught up in the excitement back at the lab and had missed this boy's final moments, although from the look of things, she wasn't yet too late. She always tried to be with those she took care of when they took their final breath; she felt it was her duty.

Her gaze travelled to the dark-haired man sitting by the bed. He radiated something she knew all about, loneliness. Such a shame.

Something seemed wrong though, almost like the fates were trying to tell her something. She knew without a doubt that the dying man was hers to take care of, but she had a gut feeling that perhaps it was happening too soon. She had felt it a little back at the house, but now it was much stronger.

Maybe the fates were responsible for the lab boys finally finding the way to make an antidote to the side effects of the drug. Too late for this boy, though, he would be much too far-gone by now.

She sighed as the familiar, and much sought after, grief welled up inside her.

*****

When everyone had gone, Sam slumped back into his seat. It had been Malone's sharp nod that had persuaded the doctor to turn the machines back on. And even now, he knew that they all thought he'd made a mistake by the pitying, even angry looks thrown his way. Except Malone, and Sam was beginning to think that he'd been wrong about the old bugger, that maybe he wasn't as lacking in compassion as he'd thought.

He hadn't missed the old man's stooped shoulders, as he'd come into the room earlier, bowed by the death of Anson as well the other pressures of his job. Malone had straightened as soon as he'd walked in the door, and Sam could only think that it served the older man right, that the decisions that weighed so heavily upon him were of his own making.

The same as the fear of Chris leaving him was of Sam's own making.

The door opened and a nurse came in, one he hadn't seen before. She was a tall, leggy redhead and she sat on Chris' bed, brushing his hair back.

"You're still with us, then," she said softly, and Sam wondered if this woman even realised that he was there.

"You new here?" Sam asked bluntly, put out at her familiarity with his partner.

She looked at him in surprise. "You're his friend?" she asked.

"You didn't answer me."

She smiled and inclined her head slightly. "I care for the terminal," she said with a sad cast to her eyes. "I thought this boy was supposed to have been taken off the machines already."

"He was," Sam said dully, "But he wouldn't give up, so he got a reprieve."

"Wouldn't give -?" The woman looked at Sam sharply. "Tell me what happened, exactly."

Warily, Sam told her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Are you sure he moved?" she asked when he had finished. "And he kept breathing?"

"He was fighting for it, but yes," Sam confirmed. "But what's this all about?"

The woman seemed distracted for a moment, muttering unintelligibly to herself. "Hmmm?" She finally acknowledged Sam's question. "Oh, a new drug, a little radical. You'll have to excuse me, I need to talk to someone," she slid off the bed then paused. "If there's any doubt as to whether he's still alive, get them to do an EEG before you switch him off again, okay?"

Startled, Sam could only watch as she swept out of the room. A few seconds later his shocked and tired brain kicked into gear, and he sprang to his feet, running out into the corridor. She was nowhere to be seen so he asked at the nurses' station.

They had no idea who he was talking about.

*****

"Hey."

Sam looked up from the dishwater that claimed to be tea to see Backup at his shoulder. He smiled in tired greeting and she sat down next to him at the formica table in the hospital canteen.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Not too bad," Sam sighed, "all things considered. You know that Malone's talking about partnering me up with Carlton?"

Backup nodded. "Makes sense really. Think you could keep her in line?"

"It would be a challenge I suppose." Sam's eyes darkened at the thought of having a new partner.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that Carlton's as enthused about the idea as you are," Backup replied. She looked at him searchingly. "Want to talk about it?"

"About what?" he asked, knowing damned well what.

"You've been walking around with a face like granite since this whole mess started, Sam," she said plaintively. "I know you have feelings in there somewhere, please don't bottle them up."

Sam stared at her. Had he really been that good at hiding? He hadn't even thought about it, and the fact that he had obviously been throwing up a wall to other people subconsciously left him feeling slightly sick; he was becoming what he was trying to avoid. "I'm not, Backup," he said finally. "I'm okay."

With a disbelieving frown, Backup changed the subject. "I have some news for you," she told the Englishman. "Richards picked up on the research you were doing, and took it in a direction that we'd missed before."

"Oh?" Sam leaned forward, eager to listen to anything that might provide some sort of hope or release from his own thoughts.

"Seems Nick Wells has a big brother, Justin."

"I know that, Backup, owns a chemical plant somewhere near Heathrow."

"Right," said Backup. "That's what Richards picked up on. Apparently, as well as manufacturing petrochemical by-products, it has a small research branch that works on developing chemicals from other sources, most especially for the medical community."

"Okay, I'm with you," Sam said, not really seeing where this was going.

"Well, apart from that, Justin has been having some very discreet meetings with a certain well-known member of the Russian mafia..."

"And getting hold of that list would have been important. So, knowing who baby brother works for..." Sam trailed off as the penny dropped and jumped to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Backup asked.

"To see Justin Wells and show him exactly what it means to mess with CI5," he told her with a manic gleam in his eye.

"Sam, no. There's nothing we can justifiably take him down for, what we have is pure speculation."

"What about Chris? We can have him done for actual bodily harm, maybe even murd- more if the worst happens."

"Speculation Sam, not even circumstantial. Unless Chris can tell us for himself, there's nothing we can do."

Sam hesitated, and then said, "I'm going anyway. I not going to do anything stupid," he halted Backup's protestations, "I'm just going to see if anything turns up, is all."

"But, Malone..."

"Fuck Malone," Sam snapped, striding out of the canteen.

"Ewww, gross idea," shuddered Backup before following him out.

*****

ChemWell Corporation inhabited a tall modern Aluminium and Perspex skyscraper that dominated the surrounding area, which wasn't overly difficult, since the surrounding area consisted of scrub wasteland.

Sam pulled up to the building with a squeal of tyres, the drive having done nothing to alleviate his fear but redirect it into anger and determination. Backup had remained quiet on the journey after her insistence that she accompany him, and by her slightly seasick expression, Sam thought it was probably to do with his driving.

He had no plan to speak of, other than going into the company lobby and loitering or possibly bullying his way into Wells' office in the hopes of seeing or hearing something that would enable him to take some sort of reparative or cathartic action. But he never even got as far as getting out of the car before he froze.

A small woman in a neat dark trouser suit chose that moment to exit the building, heading into the car park - the driver of the Bora.

He leapt out, gun drawn and charged after the woman yelling at her to freeze. She didn't, but seemed unarmed, so Sam couldn't actually shoot her, much as he might have liked to.

With surprising speed and agility she jumped into a green Scorpio and gunned the engine, and made a break for the road. Sam spun back to the Mondeo he'd been driving, and yelled to Backup, who was on her mobile, to get back in the car. To his shock, the Scorpio swerved, heading straight for the petite Canadian who remained unawares, her back to the oncoming car.

Sam did the only thing he could and with a flying sprint, tackled Backup, throwing her out of harms way. A hard thump impacted with his thigh and ground met whirling sky before he hit the asphalt with a thud.

*****

Dazed, Backup picked herself up. The first thing she saw was Sam lying on the ground, groaning. The second thing she saw was the green car turning onto the road with a screeching skid. She took a quick mental note of the registration plate and went to call the incident in. Her mobile was shattered. She quickly trotted over to Sam, who was conscious, but writhing on the ground in obvious pain and fished out his phone.

"Where are you hurt?" she asked Sam, concern furrowing her brow as she made the call.

"Ah, my leg..." he ground out, gasping as he fought to get back his wind. "It's okay, I'm alright..." He sat up with difficulty, rejecting Backup's insistence that he should lie down.

Backup ran firm but gentle fingers over the indicated thigh but could find no blood or obvious broken bones, although she could already feel the hard swelling of what promised, if nothing else, to be a monumental bruise.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"Don't know until I try," he replied accepting her hand up. She watched his face, saw the grimace of pain quickly hidden and sighed to herself. If only Sam would admit to a little pain once in a while, it'd make life so much easier all round.

"Come on, we're going back to the hospital to get that leg checked out."

"It's just a bruise, Backup, I want to go -"

"And I don't care what you want. You get crotchety when you're in pain, and there is no way I'm letting you loose inside that building when you're crotchety. Angry and upset, yes, but not crotchety. Now move."

Sam smiled a little and Backup led him to the car. With a bit of luck, she thought, the green car would get picked up and they would finally get some kind of lead.

*****

Sam stood at the back of the interrogation room quietly simmering. Backup, proving ruthless and intense as the interrogator, had persuaded Leonora Devlin to open up almost completely. The older woman sat in her chair shrinking into herself, crying continuously as Backup questioned her mercilessly.

Devlin apparently knew quite a bit about Justin Wells' illicit dealings and landed him in it up to his neck. Even now, the man was on the run, his organisation a shambles and several key personnel mysteriously having vanished.

She didn't know anything about the drug, though, and couldn't help Chris. That, it seemed, had been Scarlett's department. And when it came to Scarlett, Devlin refused to utter a word, only saying that Scarlett took care of her, by way of explanation for her refusal to co-operate. They couldn't even piece together a vague description, not even knowing whether Scarlett was male or female, whether the name was a first or last name.

Spencer ran it through the database, but nothing came up.

Sam rubbed at his sore thigh. Nothing was broken, but the bruise had swollen, tightening the fabric of his trousers, it had spread so far across his flesh.

Backup gave up her questioning then, and Sam examined the prisoner with disgust. He felt as if he were right back at square one, and could only hope that Wells was caught sometime soon.

*****

Chris sat in his tiny cell, letting the groping hands do as they pleased, beyond caring. He had given it his best shot, but it hadn't been enough. Sam had saved him this time, and sometimes he could still hear his partner begging him to stay. He wanted to, he really did, but he was too tired to fight any more, and everything was fading, his skin numbing and hearing becoming deaf; he just wanted to sleep, to escape the confines of his mind. The dark void that lingered at the edges of his brain was already drawing closer and he knew that sooner or later he would have to let it smother him completely. Probably sooner, if the speed of it's descent was anything to go by.

Scarlett and Leo still made regular appearances, although they were growing fainter, ghostlike, fading and he regarded them with detachment. Sam's voice was a different matter. He could no longer smell the Englishman's unique scent, could barely feel the touch of his partner's hand on his, but he clung to the voice that whispered almost constantly 'stay with me' with stubborn tenacity. He wouldn't be ready to succumb to the void until he lost that lifeline.

The void was surrounding him, even chasing the hands away, and leaving him utterly alone, except for that whispering voice, fading even now. The door to his cell opened, inviting him to embrace the void.

He refused to move though, hanging on to the ethereal voice until the dark tendrils of the void reached in to embrace him.

*****

_You'd better hope and pray_

_That you make it safe back to your own world_

_You'd better hope and pray_

_That you wake one day in your own world_

_Cause when you sleep at night_

_They won't hear your cries in your own world_

_And only time will tell_

_If you can break the spell back to your own world_

Sam was jolted out of his doze by almost silent steps in the dully-lit room. It was the early hours of the morning, and the hospital was eerily quiet otherwise, he may not have heard her.

He leapt to his feet, ignoring the pain of his bruises, to find the red-haired nurse injecting something into Chris' IV and in one fluid motion swept her hands away from it, pinning her to the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he rasped, his forearm across her throat. Her eyes glinted darkly, but showed no fear, only sadness.

"Helping him," she said simply.

"By what? Murdering him? Or are you another ghoul trying to get the precious fucking list? Whose payroll are you on?"

She stared at him for a moment, as if considering. "Not murder," she said softly, "Not this time. It's a tiny chance, but maybe what I gave him will bring him back to you. Then maybe you won't have to be alone after all."

Sam stared at her in shock, wondering if he was still asleep. This woman didn't even know him, how could she have seen into his head with such clarity? Especially as he had apparently managed to successfully disguise his fears from his colleagues.

She raised a hand and with a familiar gesture, swept Sam's hair from his forehead, he flinched away, but never broke his grip and she smiled a bittersweet smile. "I will care for him again very soon, when you're no longer there for him. I wish I could care for you when your turn comes, but I believe the fates have other ideas."

Sam shook his head in disbelief; the woman was clearly mad, but the conviction in her voice scared him. A slight movement distracted him for a brief second; he was certain he saw Chris twitch. The movement came again, the American's shoulder jerking slightly and Sam leapt for the call button.

When he looked back, the redhead was gone but with Chris showing some vague indication of life, he couldn't find the inclination to go after her. Instead, he called to Chris, trying to help in the only way he could as medical staff poured into the room.

*****

The void had him almost cocooned, wrapping him in its seductive folds, merging with him, promising him eternal safety, security, protection and peace.

A faint, wavering form brushed over him and Scarlett's voice whispered, 'I'll be back very soon' before vanishing, only to be replaced by Sam's voice, suddenly urgent although still very far away.

"Stay with me, Chris, come on, I know you can do it!"

*Not now, Curtis, not any more. I'm too tired...*

"I'm not letting you go again, you hear me Keel?"

*I hear you, Sam, but please, let me go, I can't fight any more... please...*

"Don't you dare give up on me, Chris, I've been through too much for you to decide you've had enough now!"

*You've been through too much? You should try being where I am...*

Something was happening. The cell was shaking, the void losing it's grip and Chris found himself thrust rudely into awareness, the sterile smell of the hospital burning, his skin itching all over and Sam's voice loud in his ear.

The shock lasted only a few seconds before he realised something else was happening to him and he dreaded what was going to occur because the feeling was horribly familiar; his muscles were all trembling for no apparent reason. He remembered this; this was when they put the needle in, this was when they took his body away.

When the spasms started, they were not as He

violent as they had been before, though still brutally vicious. His muscles twitched and jerked, ripping in constant agony, white lightning lancing sharply through his brain for what seemed like hours, as he thrashed in the bed, inarticulate, strangled sounds issuing from his throat. They held him down for a while until it got too bad and then they used straps instead that he pulled against in manic fear as much as wildly out of control muscles would let him.

Sam appeared - when had he opened his eyes? - mopping his trembling, sweat-streaked face and neck with a cool cloth, trying to soothe whispered words that Chris held on to.

"Stay with me, Chris. Stay with me."

His body ached with it's constant frenzied efforts, unable to stop, spikes of pain juddering up and down his arms and legs, his stomach tearing apart, his spine bending backwards, trying to snap. A final great spasm shot through him forcing him to arch against the restraints, muscles cramping all at once, and rivulets of sweat mingling with pain-induced tears.

Then it stopped with an unexpected finality and his mind exploded into a million fragments as he dropped sharply into unconsciousness.

*****

"What's happening?" Sam demanded as people bustled about the bed. He had found the last few hours of frantic struggling and harsh, agonised cries from his partner horrific, but it was nothing as compared to the return to utter stillness that ripped him in two.

Halley looked at him with just a hint of frustration. "I don't know," he said. "It- it seems as though his autonomous function has returned. In fact, the paralysis seems to have... vanished." He paused as one of the nurses attempted to re-attach the IV line that had fallen out in that final tormented lurch, and Sam was almost gratified to see Chris, even in unconsciousness, trying to pull away unsuccessfully against the straps that still held him. "We'll leave those on for now, in case it happens again, but hopefully he'll just sleep for a while. I'm sure he must be exhausted."

Sam nodded tightly, and took his place by the bed again, the monster inside him retreating, as hope burned brightly once more. With nothing left to do, he repeated his mantra over and again.

"Stay with me."

*****

In the dark space that used to be his mind, he sat and watched tiny flecks of light spinning around him. He was quite unaware of where he was, was unaware of who he was and didn't really much care, he just watched the lights, the only thing that held his attention, dancing in circles, almost forming patterns before darting off elsewhere to flicker and spin with dizzying speed.

With an apathy he would have found frustrating if he had been capable of emotion or thought, they came towards him and one by one, joining together like a jigsaw, forming a picture a miniscule fragment at a time.

*****

Once again, Sam couldn't believe what was happening. He had been forced to wait outside while Malone, Jeffries and the two MI6 men held court around Chris' bed, waiting for him to wake up and give them the wretched list.

They had arrived the moment the doctor had mentioned the possibility that the American could be coming out of it, and had been there for hours. The whole cold attitude made Sam's blood boil. He could see the irony in it, but didn't care. Chris was the only person in recent years to understand him and there was a need that Sam couldn't explain, to protect Chris from harsh realities like those men in there. The monster inside whispered of possessive jealousy and selfish need, and he ruthlessly shut the door on it. It might be true, but that wasn't the point.

Even more aggravating was that Wells had gone to ground, possibly even left the country by now. No retribution was available to him in any form other than poor twisted Leonora Devlin.

Sam paced the corridor ignoring Backup's worried glances, but appreciating her moral support. He intended to be inside that room the instant they would let him.

He didn't have to wait much longer. It was Malone, looking exhausted who opened the door and told Curtis to sit with Keel while he went for coffee. He also allowed Halley and a nurse to go inside, obviously convinced that Chris wasn't going to be waking up in the immediate future.

*****

As the picture formed, so did the rest of his mind, each splinter falling delicately into place until the jigsaw was complete and he held the picture of the list in front of him; the final hurdle to his return to reality.

Compelled by something he didn't understand, he started to read it out loud, willing his body to obey him.

"Grenoble..."

*****

"Gr'n'ble - five, four, six, eight... "

"What was that?" Phillips asked, leaning forward, but Jeffries was there first.

"Get all non-essential personnel out now!" Jeffries ordered, the little man suddenly authoritarian. "Pen and paper, now!" In just a few seconds, the little man was scribbling down everything that was coming in halted whispers from the semi-conscious patient's lips.

Sam stood at the back of the room, apparently allowed to stay, observing. The list seemed to go on forever, but finally Jeffries snapped the hastily procured notebook shut, and after putting Chris through a final ritual of waving hands and things apparently meant to permanently dispose of the list, left the room, with Malone and the MI6 men in tow. None of the men had said or done a thing to reassure Chris who was now moaning weakly. Sam strode up to him and took his hand once more.

Blue eyes fluttered open and Sam was relieved beyond words as he saw their clarity asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Chris answered, frowning at the straps that held him pinned to the bed. One of the nurses that came back in with Halley, at his prompting, took the straps away.

Chris immediately shifted in the bed, flexing limbs and examining his hands and arms with a silent intensity.

Sam slumped into his chair, tension leaving him in waves. "Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear?" Chris turned and looked at him and Sam paled as the blue eyes glazed over, "Chris? Stay with me!" he demanded.

"Gotcha." Chris smiled, faint mischief lighting up his face. "Was never gonna leave you." He yawned again, rubbing at his eyes. "Now, I really gotta sleep, okay?"

Sam nodded, relaxing until Malone came in a few moments later.

"Mr Curtis, Mr Keel...?"

"He's asleep," Sam replied, not a little coldly. "He's done his job."

"Don't be ch - ," Malone stopped himself. "I know, Mr Curtis. And a damned fine job too, all things considered. I'm relying on you to ensure that Mr Keel is ready to resume duty at his earliest convenience, do I make myself clear?"

Sam paused, trying to read between the lines. When he replied, the ice was almost gone from his tone. "Yes sir. I'll do my best."

"That's all I expect," Malone said before leaving. "For you, for all of you, to do your very best."

*****

To Chris' delight, he found his energy returning in direct proportion to his appetite, which although tiny to start off with, grew exponentially with each passing day. He revelled in his regained freedom of movement and took every opportunity to get out of bed. He had been dismayed initially by the weakness in his continually aching muscles, but was reassured by the feel of strength returning.

But he had a burning desire to get out of the hospital. His dislike of hospital's was well known and his record for discharging himself against medical advice was unparalleled by anyone, except perhaps Sam. That was normally on stubborn principal born of an innate hatred of inactivity and an upbringing that had ingrained a sense of weakness at invalidity.

This time was different. He needed desperately to get up and *do*. To get rid of the feeling of helplessness, to get away from hands poking and prodding, invading his space, humiliating and degrading. He knew that it all stemmed from before, at the house, and that the people here were only trying to help, but that knowledge didn't stop him from shrinking back in his own mind. Didn't stop the sickening, depressing feelings of crushing shame.

He needed to go home where it was safe, where no one else could reach him, touch him without his permission. Some part of him told him he was just running away, but he managed to ignore that.

*****

Sam knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. And it came as no surprise whatsoever when on his way to visit Chris; he almost bumped into his partner coming out of the hospital.

What did come as a surprise, was the way the American virtually leapt back out of the way as if he'd been stung before he realised that it was Sam and visibly relaxed.

"On the run already, Chris?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

"Yeah, well, lets get moving before someone snitches on me," Chris replied, brushing past.

"They do know you've discharged yourself? I mean, this is a bit fast even by your standards," Sam remarked with some concern, keeping pace with the American. Although Chris looked fine, if a little drawn, he lacked his usual bounce. Sam would have put that down to the various pulled and sprained muscles his partner had managed to acquire during his emergence back into the living world, but there was something in the downcast blue eyes that didn't fit.

"They know," Chris replied, pausing as he searched the car park, and on spotting a familiar Mondeo, headed towards it. "You gonna take me home then?" he asked, hopefully.

"Do I have a choice?" asked Sam.

Chris just grinned and Sam returned it, revelling in his partner's company and choosing to disregard for the moment the fact that somehow, his partner's eyes weren't laughing.

*****

When they arrived at his apartment, Chris couldn't get inside quick enough. Ignoring his minor aches and pains he almost ran up the stairs in anticipation of freedom, safety, security, privacy... and exposure. He stopped sharply as his bay windows screamed their picture of bright sunlight on tombstones, hardly noticing when Sam walked into the back of him.

He sensed more than saw Sam move towards the kitchen and put the coffee machine on, but just stood there, frozen in time as feelings of vulnerability, and naked exposure swamped him, adrenaline and fear chasing base degradation through his nerves, coalescing to settle behind his eyes in visions of red satin waves.

Sam's entrance back into the living room snapped him back to reality and he closed the curtains quickly, regretting choosing an apartment with big picture windows. It made him feel too exposed. A showpiece, even if only to the dead and he shuddered at the memory.

A hand on his shoulder, that one part of him knew was meant to be reassuring and comforting, but another spat out vivid memories, that he could still feel the spider-fingers crawling over creeping, unwilling flesh, violating... and he spun away, his stomach heaving.

He looked up with wild eyes, to see Sam watching him with a worried frown.

"Sit down before you fall down," the Englishman indicated the sofa. "I'll just finish the coffee."

Chris glanced over at the sofa, but couldn't bring himself to sit, leaning on the stereo, gulping air until Sam brought in two mugs of steaming caffeine. His equilibrium restored, he accepted the coffee but remained standing, pacing the floor in his need to be *doing*, to prove he was alive and wholly functioning. Sam just watched him, still frowning and the worry that was still evident there only fed the fear of vulnerability.

He wanted Sam to leave, but the fact that his partner had not once abandoned him, not when it really counted, prevented him from saying the words. He remembered hearing the fear and loneliness in the Englishman's voice when they were going to switch him off, and couldn't bring himself to push the man away.

But the silence between them was excruciatingly unbearable.

"Sam, I'm sorry, but I really -"

"Chris, are you sure you - ?"

Both stopped speaking as they realised the other was talking.

*****

"You first," Sam offered, watching his friend closely. Chris was wound up, the tension almost palpable as he moved about the place, his eyes haunted, like a caged animal. He felt that he should be asking the American something, or saying something, but couldn't for the life of him work out what it should be.

Chris took the invitation although he wouldn't look at his partner. "Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but I really need to be alone right now. I - I haven't had a minute to myself in days, people poking, prodding, tou - talking all the time. I need some space."

Sam could swear that his partner flinched a little, as if he was frightened of something, and the Englishman suddenly realised what it was he should be asking, that no one else had asked. "All right," he agreed, "just let me finish my coffee first, that okay with you?"

Chris glanced over at him with a sigh of relief. "Of course that's okay, Sam," he smiled.

Sam relaxed a little, before tentatively asking his question. "So... what happened? I mean, what happened after we got gassed? What was it like?"

Chris stared at him with open terror, no not at Sam, but at some internal demon and for a long while he thought that the American wasn't going to answer. He drained the rest of his coffee and came to the conclusion that he should keep his promise and leave.

Then Chris dropped into an armchair with a thump and rolled his head back to stare at some point high on the wall.

"It was... frustrating, terrifying. I was trapped inside. I knew everything that was occurring pretty much, but couldn't do anything to influence what was happening. When Malone told me there was no cure, it was like I died there and then, because I couldn't live like that, the prospect was too... frightening."

Sam couldn't imagine that kind of terror, but instinctively guessed that there was more to it. "Why?" he asked, his tone gentle to take away the hard edge of the question.

"Because... when you're that helpless, other people have to do everything for you, and it makes you vulnerable." Chris paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and running a shaky hand through his hair before continuing. "Vulnerable and exposed to whatever humiliation they need or want to put you through."

"Need or want?" Sam asked, suddenly seeing dark possibilities that hadn't occurred to him before. "What do you mean?" he asked weakly.

Chris shrugged. "Whatever you can think of... feeding, bathing, things you do every day without thinking twice about, you have to rely on someone else... I guess it wasn't so bad at the hospital; they only did what they needed to. But, just knowing that anyone who wanted to, could do... anything and I couldn't stop them..." Chris trailed off as a deep shudder ran through him.

"What happened at the house?" Sam asked softly, not wanting to know, but recognising that Chris desperately needed to unburden himself. His heart twisted as the American scrunched his eyes up, grimacing with some remembered pain. "Like... like leaving you in the bed the way we found you?" Sam asked, trying to encourage his partner to answer.

Chris nodded, exhaling sharply. "Like that, yeah," he said with some relief, still looking anywhere but at Sam and the Englishman knew that it still wasn't everything.

"Did they - ?" he didn't know how to ask, but felt he had to. "Did they do anything, anything to - to hurt - ?"

"No!" Chris' choked laugh was slightly hysterical, and Sam wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved or even more worried. "No," Chris continued, clearing his throat. "It was... just... degrading, but they could have done. They could have done absolutely anything, and I couldn't even begin to try and fight them and that is what hurts most of all." Chris finally looked at Sam and the Englishman saw the naked despair in his partner's eyes. At that moment he felt pity and sorrow for his friend, anger at those that had abused him and pride that the American had exposed his inner torment, in a bid to free himself from it, though it must surely have cost him dearly.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. But you'll get over it." He paused for a moment, as hope began to flare in the depths of his partner's eyes, and then said with a small smile, "Because if you don't, I'll kick your butt all the way to Nomine Patri and back until you do."

Chris laughed again, and this time it was genuine, "Just try it Sam. I might be a head case right now, but I can still take you down in a fair fight."

"Whoever said I would fight fair?" Sam asked innocently.

"That'd be right." Chris' expression turned serious for a moment. "You know that it's only thanks to you that I can still fight don't you? I never said thanks for asking me to stay. I could hear you even at the end..."

"I know," Sam smiled, "I knew that when you kept breathing."

"No, well, yes then, but I meant at the end, right before they gave me the antidote or whatever it was. I'd given up, but I heard you..."

"You mean... if I'd stopped the redhead, I'd have lost you right then?" Sam asked faintly.

"Redhead?" Chris asked, clearly confused.

"A red-head who was dressed like a nurse, with legs that went all the way up..." Sam stopped at the sick expression on Chris' face. "She talked about taking care of you," he blurted.

"I'll bet she did. But... why would Scarlett...? I mean, she murders just so she can have someone to take care of."

Sam thought about what Scarlett had said, but something stopped him from informing Chris about her wild predictions. "Maybe she had a soft spot for you?" he suggested slyly, then bit his tongue at the connotations of his words. To his relief, there was no negative reaction from the American.

"Maybe," Chris said, although he didn't look convinced.

With the tension and haunted look gone from his partner, Sam decided that he could grant Chris his wish for privacy, and stood up to leave. "I'll be around tomorrow, okay? And we can maybe go and do something. Malone's given me a couple of days off."

Chris snorted. "Yeah, right! Like that's gonna happen!"

At the door, Sam turned to leave, but Chris' voice stopped him and he found his partner staring intensely at him.

"Sam, you know I won't leave you, unless I really have no choice, don't you?"

Sam started a little. Was he really so obvious? Given his pleading at the hospital, he supposed so. He didn't say anything, just smiled his thanks. But as he headed for his car, the monster inside fled from lightness of his heart.

*****

Chris watched Sam leave and not for the first time, was grateful to have him as a friend and partner.

Feeling drained, but strangely liberated, he slowly clambered back up the stairs, all the minor aches and pains happily taking centre stage now that he had lifted some of the weight from his mind. He realised that he would still need to work through a lot of the fallout from his recent experience, but was confident that it would just take a little time.

After pulling a beer from the fridge, he tentatively pushed one of the curtains aside. The tombstones were still there, basking in the sun, but now they seemed more like old friends than an audience.

Maybe not so much time as he thought.

FINIS

 


End file.
